#agentrosenfield

                                                    Author: zigCARNIVOROUS

Rated: M - English - Suspense/Romance - Published: 07-31-17 - Updated: 08-17-17 - In-Progress Chapter One

Albert, arriving home to his utilitarian apartment, sees a red light blinking in the room before he hits the overhead lightswitch. Albert depresses the button on his answering machine before hanging his trenchcoat. He expects a work message. It's a co-worker's voice saying, "Good evening, Agent Rosenfield. This is Agent Cooper."

Albert freezes in his path toward the kitchen, looking askance at the machine. He's met Cooper at the office and down in the lab a bare handful of times. Cute. Whacked in the membrane, but cute. Sharp in dress and observation.

This guy Albert nods and lights up as Special Agent Dale Cooper's boyish voice fills the room, calm as his blue-lilting streams of cigarette smoke. "It is ninety-nine degrees at twilight in Philadelphia. There is a reddish glow in the sky tonight, Agent Rosenfield. I have heard that this atmospherical phenomenon indicates the delight of sailors."

Albert squints at his answering machine.

"The first star I see tonight– whup noo, that's Venus, nevermind…" Cooper pauses. Albert opens the window. There are no stars, no moon in the blackness above the streetlamps. Cooper's serene voice follows Albert on a sudden mission to retrieve his morning paper from the recycle bin in the kitchen. Top of front page, listed by the date and weather forecast, are the minute-exact times of sunrise and sundown today. Albert flashes himself his watch. If twilight extends for no more than a half hour after sundown that would boil down the estimate on the time of Cooper's call to almost three hours ago. Cooper is saying, "I hope you don't mind me calling you at home, Agent Rosenfield. I still had your business card in the coat I was wearing," a smile in his voice, "When we met." he's been thinking about me all day everytime he put his hand in his pocket Agent Cooper's mint-vintage Armani trench Albert grunts under his breath. patent leather shoes were scuffed today

Must be the overtime-jet-lag from his labwork causing Albert's eyebrows to knit; antsy from the coffee or something. Can't be Cooper's voice, so lax it sounds like the man must have been lying on the floor for this call.

Cooper: "You said… " Albert can hear his dazed smile growing, "I could… " and growing "… go ahead…"

Albert glares at the machine. Flashes himself his watch again. "Spit it out, Coop!"

Albert has a mini-technicolor-vision of Coop splayed casually on his floor with his shirt open under thick undulating streams of smoke the long long coil of the receiver cord draped loosely around one or two limbs

Cooper clears his throat on the message, begins again, "You said I could go ahead, and at this point you whipped your card at me, Agent Rosenfield, and invited me to call you whenever I felt the… "'Lack of professional integrity' in my life...? "And by 'whenever,' you said you meant 'anytime.' "But that it had better be damn-near tantamount to catastrophe, as you have far better and nobler things to do with your time than… "'Hold the hand of every twerpie goon who can't find the door.' "Which was right behind me, as you indicated at this point… "Or was it 'goonie twerp'?"

There is a soft muffle sound. A few seconds' pause. Albert cogitates.

he muffled the receiver with his hand

Cooper clears his throat again after another almost imperceptible whoosh and Albert knows it's true. But why.

Albert is more than a little impressed with Agent Cooper's memory; an almost word-for-word recital of his rant at being interrupted down in the lab. He must have liked it, but in Albert's memory the man's expression was a tinge startled. still looks like a goon a hot goon stow it That smile bleeding through the words, it's infectious. "And I'm glad you indicated the location of the door at the time, Agent Rosenfield, because you kind of… ahh... "Scare -scared me a little and I . . . forgot where I was? Good one."

This time Cooper's hand doesn't muffle the receiver quickly enough and Albert can hear him dissolving into stifled giggles. The machine cuts him off after six seconds of silence.

"Bahh!" Albert blurts at his ceiling.

Albert, arriving home to his utilitarian apartment, sees a red light blinking in the room before he hits the overhead lightswitch. Albert depresses the button on his answering machine before hanging his trenchcoat. He expects a work message. It’s a co-worker’s voice saying, “Good evening, Agent Rosenfield. This is Agent Cooper.“